Ironically
by Mister Jay
Summary: [oneshot] From his place in Snape's house on Spinner's End, Wormtail thinks about the irony of it all. [HalfBlood Prince spoilers]


**A/N:** First Harry Potter fic, so there's probably OOC in it. Please, tell me what you think, I really want your opinion. Oh, and many thanks to my beta, Sarah.

**Disclaimer:** Yep, I definitely need one of those …

**Ironically**

Of course, lying gets you nowhere. Not that Spinner's End is nowhere by definition, but at the moment I'm nowhere worth a double-take. But when you get down to the fact that it's Severus Snape's house I'm in, you might find it worthy of a, "I'm not sure I heard you right."

Of course, that night Bellatrix and Narcissa came pounding in, I had no idea what He was planning. Sure, you could have guessed it was something more private, but it was all too obvious – why else would Snape be in on it? But, when I heard, I was – was –

I guess there's no other word for it – I was hurt. Yes, he wanted someone dead; that much was obvious. But Dumbledore! As much as I ha – dislike him, he didn't deserve what he got.

Oh, you're wondering what he got? You're sure you really, honestly, and truly want to know exactly what Dumbledore got?

He got backstabbed, played, swindled, hoodwinked unfairly, betrayed, and, not to say the least, murdered by someone he trusted and thrown from a tower.

At the moment, I don't think the dark lord could be prouder of Snape. That filthy little underling, that pathetic groveling servant, has always been His favorite. Ever since he told his Lordship about him being able to divulge information about the stupid Order of the Phoenix, at any rate. Of course, I've been ordered to "assist Severus in any possible tasks he might find possible for a sniveling wretch like you." Humph. 'Equal treatment' my ass. Who offered a blood sacrifice? Who preformed the ritual he needed? Yet, when you get through it all, I'm still at the bottom, not respected.

I never knew I could feel more hate for Severus then I did during my school years, but here I am – feeling more hate for Severus then I did when at Hogwarts Rather ironic, to say the least.

Severus made his choice. Dumbledore's given us many lectures on this. "It's not the power you have, but how you choose to use it," – that's what he always said. Yes, I chose the same path as Snape, but I hesitate to say I killed anyone who trusted me. Yes, I told the Dark Lord where the Potters were staying, yes, he found them because I was their secret-keeper, but I'd thought they'd be smart enough to get out of his way. I never expected them to get themselves killed.

And I certainly never expected to owe anything to their son.

There we go again with the irony.

Of course, I don't see Severus when he enter the little loft in his. flat that he lets me stay in – or rather, keeps me in. So I jump about a foot when he greets me.

'Wormtail,' he says coldly, and a chill travels from the nape of my neck down along my spine – and in the fearful fashion I'm quite used to having it do so, thank you.

'Snape,' I reply, hoping the fear in my voice isn't too evident.

'Reminiscing?' he asks mockingly, smirking down at me.

There are several good answers to that, but I keep silent. He walks away, uncaring, and probably sneering. The door closes loudly.

Outside, I can hear voices – Snape's and someone else's. Snape addresses the newcomer sharply. 'Why didn't you kill him when you had the chance? He had him right under your finger …'

'I – I …' the newcomer, who I recognize as Draco Malfoy – he's been here once or twice, and I've seen him at a few of the gatherings. But, for the first time in my knowledge, there's a stutter in his voice.

He may not know why, but I do. It's an attachment of sorts. It comes form a pupil/professor relationship – no matter how icy. It may not be strong, but it is some sort of attachment. You look up to said person, not for a particular reason, but because of the power – the influence – the hold over your head, waiting to let it come crashing down. You don't think you could hurt them for fear of what little power you gained from them braking like a dropped vase.  
Ironically, I feared this would happen to me, too, at one point.

And now, cruel irony has come to slap me in the face.

Of course, I don't think James would have minded if it did. After all, I looked up to him at one point. Ironically, I'm the one who brought the vase crashing down for _him_.


End file.
